


Star Crossed

by el3anorrigby



Series: Illya and Napoleon Drabbles [7]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Character Study, Drabble, I don't know what to tag this, Illya's Musing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 05:39:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6841213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el3anorrigby/pseuds/el3anorrigby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya thinks they might be star-crossed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Star Crossed

**Author's Note:**

> Just A short little drabble. Apologies for any mistakes in this. The title may suggest angst as star-crossed means a relationship doomed to fail, but it is what Illya thinks they are at first.

Ever since he was recruited by the KGB, Illya had taught himself never to get too close to anyone. He had built this solid wall around him, knowing any form of emotional attachments in his line of duty would only mean him getting hurt in the end. But it had all changed after Rome, after Napoleon had pulled him from the water and after Illya had saved him from Uncle Rudi. And, worst of all, the goddamned American had returned his father’s watch. 

The events in Rome had managed to crack his impregnable wall and Illya had let Napoleon in, gradually. In the end, once Napoleon had made it inside, into his life, Illya found it extremely hard to let him out.

Days, weeks, months after Rome, Illya realised what exactly Napoleon was to him. Napoleon was the one. Napoleon was _his_ one. The one that understood him, that knew what he was feeling and knew what he was thinking. Illya didn’t even have to say anything, yet Napoleon knew. He knew when to try and lift Illya’s spirits, or when to leave him alone. It was this uncanny ability, but Illya just figured that’s what happened when you start to spend so much of your time with someone. You get so in tuned with them that the person started to become a part of you. They know you better than you know yourself.

During their field missions, Illya would watch Napoleon mingle with the other UNCLE agents, laughing at a joke someone cracked and he thought it funny that he could pick out Napoleon’s laugh from everyone else’s. It was distinctive to his ears. The way his blue eyes crinkled and the way he threw his head back laughing could easily captivate anyone. And this, sometimes, would get the green eyed monster in him going and also was the reason of many unnecessary arguments between them.

Napoleon was the one that could break his heart while taking his breath away at the same time. He could make Illya so incredibly proud and so incredibly embarrassed. There were times when Illya knew what they have could stand the test of time and overcome any obstacle put in their path, and then there were times when Illya wondered if they had the strength just to get through another day. It scared Illya and yet, it made him believe that Napoleon, a man who could put him through so much, was the only one in the entire universe for him.

There were other times when Napoleon annoyed Illya in the worst ways possible. It wasn’t always necessarily his fault either that Napoleon just got restless. He would tell Napoleon to stop bothering him, or sometimes he was unintentionally prone to snapping at his poor partner.

But Napoleon, no matter how hard Illya was sometimes, would take it all in his stride. It was amazing how he knew Illya inside and out. When the Russian told him to go away (although, usually in a much cruder and harsh terms) Napoleon would sit next to him and asked him what was wrong, what had happened. It was this uncanny, patient understanding that Napoleon had with him and Illya was thankful for that.

Sometimes Napoleon would just squeeze his shoulders from behind him, as if just to say _'I’m here for you if you need me’._ And Illya would feel like an incredible ass for the way he acted, but Napoleon always understood. He always did. Illya would then call back to him with an apologetic look on his face and just blurt out _, “I didn’t mean to, Cowboy.”_ And Napoleon would just nod knowingly, _“Yeah, I know you didn’t.”_

Illya had thought they could be star-crossed, but Illya knew,despite any obstacles, he would never let go. Napoleon was his everything. Napoleon made him whole, he made him sane, he made him crazy, he made him feel completely at home. He always understood and he always knew. He always knew before Illya himself knew. He waited, he pushed and he was just there for Illya. Always.

Illya realised it was all in Napoleon’s movements; the grace when he marks a target, making them putty under an invisible sort of spell, the elegant gliding strides, his concentrated look during their missions, not to mention that bright dazzling smile that always gets to Illya. He could watch Napoleon run, kick, fight, do practically anything for years to come if he had to. There were moments when he would just watch the American, even during the middle of an intense mission. They were short, subtle moments, but a small smile would tug at the corner of Napoleon’s lips and an overwhelming sense of complacency would overcome Illya like some kind of baptismal wave. During those moments, everything else seemed to disappear, and it’s just the two of them in just those small, split-second moments.

Sometimes, after a mission, when they’re both sore and tired, Illya would just hold Napoleon, securing him between his arms. There was no movement, no sound, nothing at all. It was just the two of them. Their hearts beat in perfect time and he would thread his fingers through Napoleon’s dark hair, slightly touching his scalp and Napoleon would nestle his cheek on Illya’s chest, closing his eyes and breathing softly. Illya held these moments close to his heart, treasuring them as priceless as they were. That’s where Napoleon belonged. That’s when Illya felt the safest.

The first time Napoleon professed his feelings, it was in Russian. And he kept saying it in Russian. Illya loved it. He loved the way the words rolled off Napoleon’s tongue and into his heart. It was a sound that Illya would keep with him, with his heart, forever.

People might think they were star-crossed, just like he had, doomed from the start; some might think they were soul mates, a thought that had entered Illya's mind a thousand times before, always destined to be; others might simply think they were madly in love, in which Illya had no irrevocable doubt. But none of it mattered. What mattered was he just knew that Napoleon would always be his.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Tallihensia for the very helpful/insightful comments on this story. The last paragraph are worded much better now. :)


End file.
